


Total Eclipse of the Heart (the bangers and mash Hufflepuff remix)

by xylodemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Dangerous Muse, F/F, Hogwarts Era, Humor, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-25
Updated: 2006-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Minerva has a serious problem, Albus is a horse's arse, Zacharias is tired of bangers and mash, Tom Riddle finds answers in an unexpected place, and Snape is far too fertile for James' peace of mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Total Eclipse of the Heart (the bangers and mash Hufflepuff remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a poll posted by [](http://mctabby.livejournal.com/profile)[**mctabby**](http://mctabby.livejournal.com/), wherein she asked the fandom what they wanted to read:
> 
>  
> 
> _Post-HBP: What happens when a nameless Hufflepuff in the back row gets a crush on Deliria Venusdottir, the new transfer student? Will they fall down the stairs with a Time-Turner, go back to the 1940s, teach Tom Riddle all about the power he knows not, and save the world? And what about The Vampire Sanguini? Meanwhile, Dumbledore is reincarnated as the child of Snape and McGonagall!_
> 
>  
> 
> The last section of this fic contains a naked house-elf, but considering everything else that's going on here, that's probably small potatoes.
> 
> [Circa 2006]

1.

 _Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming around_  
Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears  
Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by  
Every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes  
Every now and then I fall apart  
Every now and then I fall apart

Dinner is bangers and mash. Dinner has been bangers and mash for the last three and a half weeks, and really, how long is the house-elf strike going to last?

Zacharias' potatoes are lumpy and drowning in a generous helping of congealed gravy. He frowns, and wielding his fork like a spear, he gives one of his sausages an experimental poke. It doesn't bother to put up a fight, but as it rolls wetly to the other side of his plate it manages to look both pinkish and overcooked at once.

At his left, Finch-Fletchley eats quickly and with rather more lip-smacking than Zacharias thinks is absolutely necessary. Zacharias' gaze wanders from Finch-Fletchley to his food, then back to Finch-Fletchley. Finch-Fletchley shovels another sausage into his mouth, and Zacharias decides he's lost his appetite. He pushes away his plate and pours himself another glass of pumpkin juice.

He blames Granger, mostly. Granger, and that one nutter of a house-elf who demands a living wage and spends entirely too much time with Potter's socks. He understands that some older wizarding families are quite beastly to their help, and he supposes that every has to have a cause, but three and a half weeks of bangers and mash borders on ridiculous.

Especially since Granger -- who incited this riot in the natural order of things -- can't be bothered to suffer Flitwick's cooking like every one else. She faffed off to play at hero with Weasley and Potter a week before the house-elves set up the blockade outside the kitchens. She likely feels like she did a good turn, and that, and bully for her if she does, but she's not the one starving to death.

Finch-Fletchley burps. A S.P.E.W button winks at him from its place of honour on Hannah Abbott's rucksack. Zacharias rolls his eyes, pulls his wand, and charms it to say S.P.U.N.K.

"May I have your attention, please?"

McGonagall strides to the front of the Great Hall, and the chatter dwindles with each purposeful click of her high-heeled boots. Clearing her throat, she pats at her hair and straightens her absurd tartan hat.

"Dessert will be served shortly," she threatens, and Zacharias hopes Flitwick hasn't tried to make spotted dick again. "But before you begin, I have some announcements."

"As you know," she continues, "we've not had a proper Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for close to five months." A nervous murmur ripples through the room. The professor hired at the beginning of term -- a bloke named Shacklebolt -- lasted a full two weeks before a freak accident involving a lethifold and a bottle of Ministry-grade Veritaserum left him incapable of speech and voluntary movement. "I'd first like to say, we appreciate your patience while we've worked to rectify the situation."

The other professors have been filling in at random since Shacklebolt was shipped off to the Janus Thickey Ward, with varying results. Trelawney's lessons have been interesting, to say the least.

"With that, it is my pleasure to inform you that we've found a permanent replacement." McGonagall pauses, gesturing to a scruffy fellow sandwiched by Hagrid and Grubby-Plank at the far end of the staff table. "Please welcome Professor Boardman to Hogwarts."

"Boardman?" Pansy Parkinson asks shrilly, since someone from Slytherin has to have a pain-in-the-arse opinion, and Malfoy fuckered off to lick You-Know-Who's arse at the end of last term. "As in Stubby Boardman?"

"One in the same," Boardman admits. He flashes a smile and makes a dramatic, vaguely poncy gesture.

"You're a _musician_ ," she complains. "What do you know about the Dark Arts?

"The music business _is_ a Dark Art," he replies easily.

"That's enough, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall warns. "Twenty points from Slytherin, for your impudence."

Parkinson's grumbling is interrupted by the main doors, which creak open with the pained shriek of hinges that haven't been properly oiled since the house-elves got uppity. A girl sporting a pink anorak with white faux-fur lining the hood and cuffs lingers uncertainly in the doorway, and McGonagall beckons her forward with an impatient wave.

"And now, for my second announcement," McGonagall says. "Please welcome Deliria Venusdottir, a transfer student from the Hollywood Institute of Witchcraft and Assorted Movie Magic in Los Angeles, California."

There's another smattering of applause, and Parkinson makes a noise like a trodden-on Snorkack.

"California?" she squeaks.

"California," McGonagall repeats sharply. "It's in the States, Miss Parkinson, and that will be another twenty points from Slytherin."

The girl peels off her anorak, and the Great Hall suddenly grows brighter. The world lurches to the left as the stars align and the planets change orbit. Zacharias can't quite breathe, and he's fairly sure that somewhere, birds are singing.

Deliria's chestnut-brown hair is streaked with a sunburst of golden-blonde and tumbles past her slim waist in shiny, bouncy curls. It curtains a perfect, heart-shaped face, and her full lips are painted a faint, sparkly pink that shimmers in the hovering candlelight.

"Good lord," Finch-Fletchley mumbles, and Zacharias can only agree.

"At the beginning of each term, our students are Sorted into one of our four Houses," McGonagall explains, and Deliria nods, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "You will eat with your House, sleep with your House, and attend classes with your House. They will become your family, for your tenure at Hogwarts." She pauses, and Deliria nods again. Zacharias watches her hair slip over her knuckle, mesmerised. "Hagrid?"

Hagrid lumbers out from behind the staff table with a small stool clutched in one hand and the Sorting Hat in the other. Deliria smiles at him, and blushing furiously, he sets the Sorting Hat on the floor and hands McGonagall the stool. McGonagall coughs. Hagrid curses under his breath and sets things to rights.

Deliria sits, and Zacharias has never wanted to be anything more in his life than he wants to be that stool. McGonagall rescues the Sorting Hat from the floor by its peaked top, and the rip in the brim opens in a way that means everyone might as well get comfortable.

 _There once was a girl from the States_  
Who came to Hogwarts quite late  
Her face is quite fair  
And so is her hair  
And the boys will soon mastur--

"Thank you, Hat," McGonagall cuts in. "If you wouldn't mind. I'd like to have the girl Sorted before bedtime."

McGonagall sets the Sorting Hat on Deliria's head, and it rests it atop her chestnut and blonde curls like a crown.

The Hat twitches. Three hundred and forty-seven boys lean forward. A good two hundred put their elbows squarely in their bangers and mash, and most of them can't be arsed to notice.

Zacharias has never been religious, but he figures if there was ever a time to pray, this would be it.

" _GRYFFINDOR_!"

Of course.

**2.**

_Every now and then I get a little bit restless and I dream of something wild_  
Every now and then I get a little bit helpless and I'm lying like a child in your arms  
Every now and then I get a little bit angry and I know I've got to get out and cry  
Every now and then I get a little bit terrified but then I see the look in your eyes  
Every now and then I fall apart  
Every now and then I fall apart

Orange and yellow flames crackle merrily in the fireplace, casting a golden glow on Fawkes' empty perch. On the desk, Celestina Warbeck's voice warbles from a crystal figurine charmed to catch the Sleepy-Time Wireless frequency, and Albus' pensieve glows quietly in the corner.

Minerva paces her office, and slowly, the glamour enveloping her fades. With each step, her belly grows larger, her breasts become heavier, and her ankles swell until her boots threaten to split wide open.

She tires easily these days. The constant stream of magic needed to hold her façade leaves her on the edge of complete exhaustion, but it's necessary. She can't exactly be seen in this state. Not at her age, and not in her position.

People would talk. Questions would be asked, and she doubts they would appreciate the answers.

Minerva is fairly certain Trelawney knows. Sibyll picks the strangest and most insufferable times to actually be right about something.

She collides with Fawkes' perch on her next circuit, catching the stand with her clumsy belly. She sighs as it crashes to the floor. Albus has been gone almost nine months now, but she still doesn't have the heart to put up his things.

She sighs again, and her hand creeps to her belly. Albus would know what to do. Of course, if Albus was here, she might not need to be. If Albus was here, she could take a well-deserved holiday, and she'd be able to birth this child in peace and quiet and in a place where no one would be the wiser.

"Fuck you, Severus," she mutters. "Fuck you right in the ear."

"I don't know about ears," Albus' portrait says, "but I do believe fucking Severus is what got you in this predicament."

"Fuck _you_ , Albus."

Albus' eyes twinkle merrily, and he chuckles quietly from the safety of his frame.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Minerva snaps. "How was I to know it would?"

"You're far too old to need the Beaters and Bludgers conversation," Albus says.

"I'm far too old to be _pregnant_ ," she returns shortly.

"Bound to happen," Albus comments. "You and Severus were at it constantly."

Minerva's eyes slide closed, and she remembers the last time she saw Severus, in his study off the Defence classroom. She remembers the warmth of his breath over her skin, the leather cuffs biting into her wrists, the sharp sting of his whip against her hips and arse.

He'd teased her mercilessly, his long fingers sliding in and out of her slowly as his thumb brushed just the right spot. He'd refused to enter her until she begged, and when she finally did, he'd done it so hard and fast it was almost brutal. Of course, he'd buggered off with Malfoy almost as soon as his trousers were back on, without so much as a good-bye, and he'd left her a present, besides.

The aforementioned present kicks, and Minerva grunts. Albus chuckles again, and succumbing to a sudden fit of hormones and ill-temperament, Minerva hurls the singing figurine. It's shaped like a unicorn, and the sharp, crystal horn cuts a healthy rent in Albus' canvas.

The man is dead and gone, and she refuses to take cheek from his portrait, not after he abandoned her. She forgave him for the first time he left -- thirty years ago, when he divorced her for some trollop in the Wizengamot, only to dump her a few months later so he could more easily continue his illicit affair with his own brother, but she's not about to forgive him this time.

"You're a horse's arse, Albus," Minerva says.

"I always was."

"I won't argue with you."

"It could be worse," Albus soothes. "Hogwarts could still lack a Defence professor."

"Technically, it still does," Minerva mutters. She stops pacing and stretches, pressing her hands against the small of her back. Pregnant. At _seventy-two_. It's the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard of.

"I thought you hired a fellow," Albus says.

"I hired Stubby Boardman," Minerva replies. The baby stirs, which sparks a sharp flare of heartburn. Or perhaps it's just the bangers and mash. "He's not a Defence professor. He's a retired rock and roll singer."

"Remus Lupin was a werewolf," Albus offers.

"Remus Lupin excelled in Defence as a student," Minerva counters. "Stubby Boardman didn't take his OWLs."

"I rather liked that one song the Hobgoblins did. 'Wizards Do It With Their Wands', was it?"

"I hate you, Albus."

"You do not," Albus argues. "If you did, you'd take me down and have me replaced with Sir Cadogan."

"I just might."

"I assume Stubby wasn't you're first choice?" Albus asks.

"Of course not," Minerva snaps. "After Kingsley's accident, I attempted to contact that vampire Slughorn had been keeping. Sanguini, I think his name was." The baby kicks, and Minerva closes her eyes as her bladder adjusts to being reshaped around the baby's foot. "He'd already accepted a similar position at the Original Character Farm in San Francisco."

"The Original Character Farm?" Albus asks, and Minerva nods. "Splendid! We'll have an undead transfer student by next term."

"Don't speak of transfer students," Minerva says.

"Minerva--"

"I don't like the girl," she says. "I don't know why, Albus. I just don't."

**3.**

_And I need you now tonight_  
And I need you more than ever  
And if you'll only hold me tight  
We'll be holding on forever  
And we'll only be making it right  
Cause we'll never be wrong together  
We can take it to the end of the line

 _Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time_  
I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark  
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks  
I really need you tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom is a bit of a lark, really.

James has never seen so many bits and bats in his life. Not since the war, anyway. Not since he and Sirius got trapped in Filch's secret supply cupboard under Ravenclaw. The shelves and cabinets hold a delightful jumble of books, wands, cloaks, and interesting devices. He lingers over a life-size model of a Grindyglow and ignores the Foe-Glass watching him balefully from the desk.

Defence. It was his best subject in school. That, and Quidditch. Not that Quidditch was a subject, really, but he was brilliant at it all the same. He's heard Harry's quite the ace with broom. He's always wanted to see Harry fly, but there's never been time, between hiding out and pretending to be dead, and the Hobgoblin's short and ill-advised reunion tour.

James hasn't ruffled his hair since Lily died, but being inside Hogwarts brings the habit rushing back, and he pulls at it with a rough hand. He's not quite sure how he's going to do this. Teach, that is. He did well enough in school, but that was mostly due to natural intelligence and Remus editing the waffle out of his essays. He was never much of a studier, and he rarely paid attention in class.

He has practical experience, of course -- loads of practical experience, what with one thing and another, fighting a war and defying You-Know-Who three times, and that. Only, he can't really use it, because he can't talk about it. He's not supposed to be James Potter, he's supposed to be a washed up rock star.

On the opposite wall is a diagram of a Boggart's reproductive system. It's a ghastly thing, with a greyish-brown splotch in a most inopportune place. With a lazy flick of James' wrist, it becomes a Hobgoblin's poster -- circa 1978 and promoting the release of their last album, _Switcheroo!_.

Poster!Stubby has big hair, small leather trousers, and resembles James in that he has two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. James isn't overly concerned, because the poster is almost twenty years old, and people change in twenty years. James charms his eyes the proper shade of blue every morning, and once he grew out his hair and switched his glasses for a Lasering Charm, he stopped looking like James Potter. Especially since James Potter is dead.

James doesn't know who the last Defence professor was, but the bloke knew how to _drink_. A false bottom in the lower desk-drawer offers a hidden cache of Firewhisky (both domestic and imported), Mandrake Vodka, 3M Scotch, and Bubotuber Rum. James hasn't seen this much booze since his wedding night. He sets a bottle of Bubotuber Rum on the desk next to a large, diamond-cut tumbler, and _Accio_ 's some ice.

Rumour has it that the Defence position is cursed, but James thinks that's codswallop. James has never been religious, but he's always been lucky.

He nods at the poster. "To another long and illustrious career."

The rum is sharp and cool on his tongue, and the first swallow settles warmly in his belly. The second sprays out of his mouth and nose, because a lanky figure in a hood and cloak comes crashing through the Defence classroom's private Floo.

"Bloody Hell!" James shouts. Rum drips off his chin and onto the desk.

The figure pauses, straightens to full height. It pulls back its hood, and James wheezes.

"Snivellus."

"Potter."

"You're meant to be a murderer."

"You're meant to be dead."

"I'm Floo'ing the Ministry!"

"By all means," Snape says. "I'll just put in a firecall to your son while I wait to be taken to Azkaban."

"Don't bring Harry into this," James warns.

"Why not?" Snape asks. His voice is as greasy as his hair. "Are you afraid he'll react badly to his deadbeat dad being alive all this time?"

"I had my reasons," James insists. "He has things to do, and I'd only be in his way."

"Things, indeed," Snape replies. "Never mind him, I can't stand the little sod, myself. Why in the blazes are you here?"

"I'm the new Defence professor."

"And the entire staff has failed to notice you are, in fact, a dead man?" Snape asks. He leans forward, taking in James' longer hair and charmed-blue eyes, and frowns. "You've told them you're someone else." Snape hesitates, and his gaze catches the Hobgoblin's poster. "Good Lord, Potter. Stubby Boardman?"

"That's me," James says brightly. He pours himself another rum. He's going to need it. "Why are you here? Hiding at the scene of the crime is awfully stupid, even for you, Snivellus."

"I'm on an errand," Snape says self-importantly. "It's none of your concern."

"I'd say it is, since your wanted-for-ten-thousand-galleons-arse is standing in my office!"

"I was once my office," Snape comments.

"Cor, they'll let anyone teach Defence these days."

Snape eyes James up and down. "Clearly."

"I bested you in Defence every year!" James says.

"Only because you were sucking Black's cock every night."

"What's that got to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts?" James demands.

"Black _was_ a Dark Art," Snape replies. "I'm sure you learned something ghastly and sinister with every swallow."

James doesn't have to take this. He's Stubby Boardman, for fuck's sake. "I'm Floo'ing the Ministry."

"Wait," Snape says, hesitating. He almost looks concerned.

"For you to kill me, what?" James asks.

" _Accio Chair_ ," Snape says, and an atrocious purple and silver chintz affair materialises right behind him. "Tell me how it is you failed to do the world a favour and die, and I'll tell you why I'm here." Sighing, he sits. "And pass the rum."

James locates another tumbler and pours. He floats it over to Snape, smiling as half the rum sloshes over the side and into Snape's lap.

"Where do I start?" James asks.

"At the beginning," Snape snaps. "What saved your sorry hide?"

"A bollocksed monophthong," James explains. "Most powerful wizard of his age and minions falling out of his arse, and he couldn't remember that proper pronunciation is as essential as a crisp swish and flick."

"You've got to be kidding."

"All true," James says cheerfully. "His _Avada Kedovra_ knocked me out but good. I guess everyone thought I was dead. I came up a cropper at St Mungos, next to Lily in the Refrigeration Tank."

"Unbelievable," Snape mutters. He takes a long swallow of rum. "Why did you not declare yourself?"

"I'd been out for days," James says. "By the time I came 'round, everything had already gone tits up. Sirius was rotting, Remus had gone missing, and rumour had it Peter was dead."

"And your son?"

"Dumbledore had already given him to Lily's Muggles," James replied. "I knew where they were, and that; I'd been there once or twice with Lily before Harry was born, but I couldn't get near the place. Dumbledore must have put some kind of spell on it." James fiddles with his glass, and the ice cubes inside clink together softly. "After a while, I quit trying."

"You never thought speak with Dumbledore?" Snape asks.

"How, then?" James knocks back the rest of his watered-down rum and pours himself another. "What was I supposed to do? Owl him? I'm sure he would have believed a letter that started 'Dear Dumbledore, I know I'm meant to be dead'."

"You could have come to Hogwarts."

"Oh, yes," James replies. "Because Hogwarts is the easiest place in Britain to break into."

"Black managed it well enough," Snape observes.

"You said it yourself," James snaps. "Sirius was a Dark Art."

"What about Boardman?" Snape asks.

"That was just luck," James says. "He left the music scene a year or so before I died. I just started telling people I was him, and they believed it."

"What of the real Boardman?" Snape asks. "Does he not mind you parading around as him?"

"Actually, he encourages it," James continues. "He's on permanent holiday in Majorca, and with me running around, no one has bothered him in years."

"That still doesn't explain how you got this job with no credentials," Snape presses, "or how Minerva failed to notice who you really are after she suffered your presence as a student for seven years, or why you never tried to contact Harry after Dumbledore died."

"This is an AU, Snivellus," James says. He pulls a cigarette from the pocket of his robes and lights it with his wand. "I don't have to explain every sodding detail."

"Point."

"I believe it's your turn," James says.

"Have another drink," Snape urges.

"Am I going to need it?"

"Undoubtedly."

James obliges, and Snape sighs.

"Minerva is pregnant."

**4.**

_Once upon a time I was falling in love_  
But now I'm only falling apart  
There's nothing I can do  
A total eclipse of the heart  
Once upon a time there was light in my life  
But now there's only love in the dark  
Nothing I can say  
A total eclipse of the heart

Deliria's body is as perfect as her hair and face, and her voice tinkles like bells in a way that makes Zacharias shiver. She's the most beautiful thing Zacharias has ever seen, and as luck would have it, she's a total slapper.

It took little more than _Hello, I'm Zacharias Smith_ to get his tongue inside her mouth, and a simple _I'd've rather been Sorted into Gryffindor_ to get his hands inside her blouse. His first discovery upon introducing her to the Room of Requirement is that she's perpetually wet and doesn't bother with frivolous things like knickers.

Also, she's willing to have it off just about anywhere. Currently, Zacharias is snogging her on the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. He presses her against the banister, and runs his hand up her leg and under her skirt. He murmurs into her neck, the kind of nonsense about her hair and skin and the way she smells that's supposed to make girls wild, and she sighs prettily as he brushes a finger over her clit.

"We should go back to the Room of Requirement," he says.

"Why's that?" She rubs herself against his hand and hooks a foot around his ankle.

"Someone will catch us here," he says.

"Mmm." She tips her chin up and flicks her tongue over his lips. "That's hot."

Zacharias grinds his cock into her hip and pops the buttons of her blouse. Her full breasts struggle against the delicate frills of her bra, and he cups one through the pink and white lace. She pulls impatiently at his flies, her small hands deftly working his belt and zip, and she lifts up as she shoves his trousers out of the way, winding her legs around his waist.

He slides inside her, moaning at her smooth slickness and the way she tightens her body around him. Then, he hears a familiar, foreboding creak, and decides this was a very bad idea.

The stairway lurches, swinging wildly in the direction of a landing that leads to the library. Propped against the banister, Deliria loses her balance. She falls forward onto Zacharias, and the two tumble into blackness.

Zacharias opens his eyes to Deliria's cunt. She's flat on her back a few feet away, with her legs askew and her skirt rucked up. His first instinct is to bury his face in what she's so brazenly offering him, but as he crawls toward her, he hears footsteps down the corridor.

"Deliria, get up!"

He scrambles to his feet, and runs to Deliria's side. She blinks at him in confusion, but accepts his hand when he offers it. Once she's on her feet he drags her in the direction of convenient tapestry. The tapestry is wrong -- Clydon the Clever instead of Rowena Ravenclaw at her Wizengamot trial for house-elf abuse -- but it's there, and they dive behind it just in time.

The footsteps pause at the end of the corridor. Zacharias dares to peak, and suddenly, he's extremely confused.

It's Dumbledore. Only, Zacharias distinctly remembers Dumbledore dying. Or rather, he remembers a long, painfully boring funeral that involved too much weeping from the Gryffindor camp and ended in the suicide of Dumbledore's overwrought pet.

Dumbledore pauses in front of the portrait opposite their tapestry, twinkling all the while. Zacharias notices that he's also younger than he should be. His long hair is auburn instead of silver, and he's lacking a good deal of wrinkles.

"Where in the fuck are we?" Zacharias asks.

"We're at Hogwarts, silly," Deliria replies. "Why are we hiding, anyway? We're, like, dressed, and stuff."

"Something is wrong," Zacharias says. "See that bloke, there?" he asks, and Deliria nods. "He's meant to be dead."

"Really?" She glances around the edge of the tapestry, then shrugs. "That's cool, I guess."

"No, it's really rather not," Zacharias replies. "And he's young, again."

"Maybe we, like, went back in time."

Zacharias resists the urge to scream, and he decides likes Deliria better when she has his cock in her mouth. She can't talk, that way.

"How, exactly, did we go back in time?"

"My Time-Turner."

"What?"

Deliria's hand disappears into her cleavage, and after a bit of rummaging around, she produces a tiny hourglass on a gold chain.

"Where did you get that?" Zacharias asks.

"We've got loads of them in America," she says, shrugging. "You can, like, buy them at the store, and stuff. All the, you know, magical actors have them. That's how they do three and four movies at once."

"Why do you have one?" he asks.

"Like, everyone has one," she replies. "And, like, before I came here, I was gonna do a movie for, you know, Disney. But, the shooting schedule, like, conflicted with school, and stuff. If I hadn't gotten one, I'd've missed lots of class."

"I don't know Disney," Zacharias snaps. "And 'gotten' is not a word."

Deliria makes an irritated huffing sound. She tucks the Time-Turner away, which flashes a good deal of breast, and Zacharias subsides.

"Well, give it here, then," he says. "We'll just spin it 'round and go back."

"We can't," she says, shaking her head. "We have to, like, find out when we are, so we, you know, know how many times to spin it."

"All right," Zacharias says. "We'll have a look around once Dumbledore buggers off. Maybe there's a copy of the _Prophet_ laying about."

Zacharias hears footsteps again. He looks down the corridor, hoping Dumbledore is, in fact, buggering off, but no such luck. It's another person -- a student by his robes. He's tall and thin with the sort of handsome features that make Zacharias want to punch him in the nose, and he walks like he thinks highly of himself.

"Afternoon, Mister Riddle."

Zacharias' cock, which was coming back to life because of Deliria's hand on his thigh, shrinks completely and tries its best to crawl inside his body.

"Bloody Hell," he hisses. "Bloody fucking Hell. That's You-Know-Who!"

"I don't know who," Deliria says. "But, wow. He's fine."

"Afternoon, Professor."

"You missed Transfigurations, today," Dumbledore says lightly.

"Apologies, Professor," Riddle replies. "I wasn't feeling myself, this morning."

"Well, I see you're out and about," Dumbledore continues. "All better, then?"

"Some," Riddle says, with a forced smile. "I thought a bit of fresh air would do me a good turn."

"It just might," Dumbledore says. "I recommend the gardens outside the library. Not too much sun, and not too much shade, and far enough from the lake that you won't take a chill."

"Thank you for the advice, Professor," Riddle says, nodding his head. "I'll just be on my way."

Dumbledore turns, humming to himself as he wanders down the corridor. Riddle watches him go with narrowed eyes, and once Dumbledore turns the corner, Riddle leaves in the opposite direction.

"Let's go," Deliria says.

"Where?"

"Wherever he's going," Deliria says.

"Do you have any idea who he is?" Zacharias sputters.

"I don't really care," Deliria says. "He's, like, really fucking hot, and I want to suck his dick."

Zacharias forgets how to speak. Or breathe.

"C'mon," she says impatiently. "You can, like, screw me while I'm doing it."

**5.**

_Every now and then I know you'll never be the boy you always you wanted to be_  
Every now and then I know you'll always be the only boy who wanted me the way that I am  
Every now and then I know there's no one in the universe as magical and wonderous as you  
Every now and then I know there's nothing any better and there's nothing I just wouldn't do  
Every now and then I fall apart  
Every now and then I fall apart

"I'm sorry," James sputters. "I think you said McGonagall's pregnant."

"I did,"

"How?" James is half morbidly curious, half convinced he doesn't really want an answer.

"Really, Potter, you've a child of your own," Snape says. "Do you really require a lesson on the mechanics of nature?"

"I mean, who's the father?"

Snape looks uncomfortable, and shifts in a way that suggests he'd like to be swallowed by purple and silver chintz. "That would be me."

James sets his tumbler aside, attempts to regroup, and when he fails, takes a long swig of rum directly from the bottle. It doesn't help. He takes another for good measure.

"You," James manages finally. "And. McGonagall."

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Since I arrived at Hogwarts," Snape replies. "As a professor," he adds, when James looks fit to fall out of his chair.

"Right."

"The child can't remain here, obviously," Snape explains. "It's not safe, and Minerva has enough to be going on with. With that in mind, I made arrangements to have the child sent to a relative of mine in the States."

James tries to speak, but fails miserably. Caught in the back of his throat, the words become a strange gurgling noise, and he drowns them in more rum.

"Of course, the whole thing has been bollocksed," Snape continues. "More fool I, for trusting Trelawney, but my options were limited. Instead of performing a charm that would Banish the child after its birth, the mad harridan Summoned my daughter."

"You've a daughter?"

Snape narrows his beady eyes. "Did you not hear me when I said I did?"

"McGonagall's?" James asks.

"No."

"Whose, then?"

"You really don't want to know."

"No, I probably don't," James admits. "But you'd might as well tell me."

Snape sighs. "Regulus Black."

James clutches the edge of his desk as the world lurches around him. Snape has children and he fucked McGonagall and Sirius' brother, and why is the rum gone?

"Regulus was a boy," James tries. It's the best he can do.

"I did notice," Snape snaps.

"Then he couldn't have been the, um, mother of your daughter."

"Of course he could have," Snape says. "How do you think he died?"

"I thought You-Know-Who killed him."

"The Dark Lord blackened his eye and boxed him around the ears a bit," Snape explains. "Squeezing my daughter out of his arse is what killed him."

"Good Lord," James says, shuddering. That was a mental picture he most definitely did not need. "I think I've heard enough. Can we just fuck now and be done?"

"Are we supposed to?" Snape asks.

"Clearly."

"Very well," Snape says, resigned. He removes his robes and unzips his trousers. "I'm ready when you are."

Snape's tongue tastes of rum, the sweetness laced with the sour flavour of being on the run. He kisses James like it's the last thing he's ever going to do, and it may well be. James has half a mind to Floo the Ministry the moment after he gets off.

James pulls Snape closer, twisting Snape's lanky hair in his hands as his teeth graze Snape's lower lip. Snape growls into his mouth, a low, rumbling sound that James can feel, and Snape's clutches at James' hips, fingers digging hard enough to bruise.

He's missed this -- the rough press of a cock against his thigh and the hard, sharp planes of another male's body. It's been years, what with Sirius getting himself incarcerated, and while Stubby Boardman doesn't mind James' charade, he's made it clear that James is not allowed to do anything that would cast a shadow of doubt on his sexuality.

Snape's hand sneaks inside James' flies, and his long, thin fingers curl firmly around his cock. James moans, a harsh, broken sound that lingers on the tip of his tongue, and he thrusts his hips up, shamelessly urging Snape to stroke him harder.

James is close, so close, and heat curls low in his belly, rushing over his skin up until the moment Snape spins him around and grinds his cock against James' arse.

"Not so fast, Snivellus," James says.

"Is this where we argue over who penetrates whom until we both go soft?" Snape asks wearily. His fingers tighten on James' hips. "Tedious, Potter. Very tedious."

"I don't much care on that account, to be honest," James admits. "Only, you're far too fertile for my peace of mind."

"You may have a point."

"I'm sure I do," James agrees. "Over the desk with you, then."

[snip eleven and a half paragraphs of the lubing process]

He pushes inside with one long, slow thrust. Snape is hot and tight and perfect, and he nearly explodes as his balls come to rest against the curve of Snape's arse. James pauses for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe, but Snape, demanding greasy bastard that he is, hitches his hips upward, which forces James to move.

James fucks Snape hard, his teeth scraping the sallow skin of Snape's neck as he loses himself to impossible heat of Snape's body. Snape growls with each thrust, his face pressed against tomorrow's lesson plan and his fingernails scoring the surface of James' desk.

Snape comes with a strangled moan, spilling messily over James' hand. His body ripples around James' cock, and James can only follow. James tries to think of Sirius because he's not supposed to think of Snape, but the first image that forms in his mind is McGonagall, and he decides Floo'ing the Ministry will have to wait until after he's had a Memory Charm.

**6.**

_And I need you now tonight_  
And I need you more than ever  
And if you'll only hold me tight  
We'll be holding on forever  
And we'll only be making it right  
Cause we'll never be wrong together  
We can take it to the end of the line  
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time  
I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark  
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks  
I really need you tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight

"This is your fault, Severus," Minerva snaps. "I'm absolutely sure of it."

The room is stuffy and uncomfortably warm, and the air is heavy with the smell of sweat and blood. Minerva struggles to sit up, and fixes Snape with the sternest glare she can muster after twenty-two and a half hours of labour. Snape meets it with narrowed eyes, and why the hell does he look well fucked?

"How, may I ask, is this my fault?"

"I don't know," she admits. "But it must be."

"Very well, then," Snape says. "Then I shall say that I'm absolutely sure that my daughter's disappearance is your fault."

"What daughter?"

"Deliria Venusdottir," Snape replies. "The American transfer student."

"Deliria is your _daughter_?" Minerva sighs, and closes her eyes against the way the room is spinning. She's too tired for this. And too old. And she knew there was a reason why she didn't like the girl.

Trelawney -- desperate times, desperate measures -- flutters around a cot tucked in the corner of the room. She fusses with the baby inside, and quietly sings her own, tone-deaf version of a lullaby.

"Yes," Snape says.

"When?" Minerva demands, brushing a lock of damp hair away from her forehead. "Where? Who?"

"Suffice to say, she's a souvenir from my younger, wilder days," Snape replies. "I've no desire to talk about it. I wouldn't mention it, at all, save for the fact that she's suddenly gone missing."

"Missing."

"Yes," Snape says. "She was inside Hogwarts as of this morning, but somehow, she managed to vanish before lunch."

"Perhaps she's tired of bangers and mash," Trelawney offers.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Minerva hisses. "I'm sorry I failed to keep an adequate watch on her while I was pushing your child out of my body!"

"You fared better than the last," Snape mutters.

"How many children do you have, Severus?" Minerva asks.

"Including yours?" Snape asks, and Minerva replies with a curt nod. "Two." He pauses. "Possibly three, but I do not think now is the time to discuss Colin Creevey."

"Colin is not a profitable line of inquiry," Trelawney offers. "Rather, you should look deep inside yourself and ask your inner eye about Dennis."

"I shall put my wand in _your_ inner eye if you cannot find a way to be quiet," Snape spits. "Minerva, why is this vaporous bint plaguing our presence?"

"I needed a midwife," Minerva says simply.

"And for some reason, you decided Pomfrey lacked both the necessary experience and mental stability?"

"I didn't think it was wise to apprise Pomfrey of the situation," Minerva replies. "What if she talks?"

"What if Trelawney talks?"

"Trelawney talks all the time," Minerva says. "But no one ever believes a bit of it."

Trelawney sighs sadly. "Those with closed hearts and minds often have trouble accepting the sacrosanct truths of the Universe."

"The Universe weeps, I am sure," Minerva mutters.

"If the Universe permits, I'll just be on my way," Snape says, inching toward the door.

"Not so hastily," Minerva snaps. "You're not going anywhere. Not until we figure out what is in that cot!"

"Have you consulted Albus' portrait?" Snape asks.

"I called for it as soon as I laid eyes on the child," Minerva says. "It's empty."

"Empty."

"See for yourself!"

Minerva points across the room. Propped against the wall is Albus' frame, and inside its borders is a blank stretch of black canvas.

"Unbelievable."

"Sibyll, bring me the child, please," Minerva asks.

He has the round head and squat body common to newborns, but he also has a full head of hair and a long, pointed beard. Both are silvery-white, and he looks up at his mother with blue eyes that twinkle behind a miniature pair of half-moon spectacles.

Sighing, Snape leans close and studies his son.

"Severus, have you been drinking?"

"No, Minerva, I've not been drinking."

"Don't lie, Severus," Minerva grumbles. "You smell worse than a pirate ship."

"If you must know, Stubby Boardman is actually James Potter who is apparently not dead, and he offered me a drink when we crossed paths downstairs."

"Oh," Minerva says. "That explains why you look well fucked."

**7.**

_Once upon a time I was falling in love_  
But now I'm only falling apart  
There's nothing I can do  
A total eclipse of the heart  
Once upon a time there was light in my life  
But now there's only love in the dark  
Nothing I can say  
A total eclipse of the heart

Deliria tastes like honey and hard lemon candies, and Zacharias loves the feel of her thighs pressed against his cheeks. She moans above him, pushing herself against his mouth. He slips his tongue between her folds, dipping it inside her in time with Riddle's thrusts.

This hadn't been the plan. The plan had been for Zacharias to shag Deliria rotten while he watched her swallow another bloke's cock. The plan had not included him being flat on his back with his legs over You-Know-Who's shoulders and You-Know-Who's cock buried in his arse, and Zacharias is not entirely sure how that became the plan.

Well, he _knows_. It became the plan -- after she'd swallowed Riddle's cock (twice) -- when she said she wanted to see Riddle fuck him, when she promised it didn't make him gay while one of her hands was inside his trousers and the other was lost between her own legs.

Riddle slams into him, fast and hard. Stars sparkle in front of Zacharias' eyes, and he decides the plan suits him just fine.

"Oh God," Deliria hisses, twisting her hips in such a manner that the tip of his tongue slides over her clit. "Right there. Oh, fuck."

Growling his approval, Riddle slams into Zacharias again, pushing Zacharias' legs back and straining forward. He feels a hand bump his chin, and Deliria squeals about Riddle being filthy as he slides two fingers inside her cunt and his thumb inside her arse.

Zacharias goes boneless, and as his eyes roll back in his head he catches a glimpse of Riddle's other hand covering one of Deliria's breasts. Riddle's cock hits _just there_ again, and Zacharias' shouts a muffled string of obscenities right into Deliria's cunt.

Riddle wrenches her back suddenly, pulling her off Zacharias' face and settling her on Zacharias' cock. Zacharias moans, twitching, overwhelmed by the sensation of Riddle inside him and Deliria around him. Riddle's hand disappears between Deliria's legs, stroking the base of Zacharias' cock as he thumbs her clit, and Zacharias cheerfully gives up the fight.

"I had no idea," Riddle murmurs. "All this time, I've been searching in the wrong place! How was I to know the Power I Knew Not was the ability to make a man squeal like a girl?"

Zacharias doesn't have an answer for that. He doesn't think he remembers how to speak. Deliria writhes on top of him, and Zacharias decides speech is overrated because he's most likely going to die before this is over.

They come together, Riddle inside Zacharias and Zacharias inside Deliria and Deliria around Zacharias' cock and Riddle's hand. Panting, Deliria slumps forward, and Zacharias' feels Riddle's cock give a final, feeble twitch before his stomach disappears.

He opens his eyes to the Room of Requirement, which is oddly small, and covered with clothes. The clothes are apparently in a charitable mood, because he and Deliria are both fully dressed.

The house-elf, however, is not.

The house-elf is completely starkers, and has a faded, purple sock wrapped around what Zacharias supposes is meant to be his prick.

"Harry Potter is so good to Dobby. He is always smiling at Dobby, and he is always having kind words for Dobby, and he was who set Dobby free."

"Oh my God," Zacharias screeches. "Give me the Time-Turner!"

" _HARRY POTTER!_ "

"Like, where are we going?" Deliria asks.

"I don't care. Anywhere but here!"

"Oh no, tall sir, you'll be wanting to stay," Dobby says.

Against his better judgement, Zacharias looks at the house-elf. He's found his trousers, thank God. The sock lays quietly at his feet in a sad heap, and to Zacharias' horror, it's quite obviously wet.

"Why would I want to stay here?"

"Because this is where everything is perfect," Dobby says. "Harry Potter is being alive and his parents are being alive and Dumbledore is being alive twice, and Mr Riddle is being the best, most kindest Minister of Magic Wizarding Britain has ever had."


End file.
